


Two on the Hunt

by GalaxyGazing



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Sex, Clones, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGazing/pseuds/GalaxyGazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jango Fett lives. Boba still grows up to be a bounty hunter. Their jobs keep them separate, but sometimes their paths do cross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two on the Hunt

 

 

It didn’t happen often, but sometimes their paths did cross.

Bounties were plentiful, but the ones that paid higher than the rest would inevitably entice two hunters to follow one trail. As long as they were in the same line of work, they’d eventually end up in a dark bar or shady city, looking for those who didn’t want to be found.

“You’re getting better at this,” Jango said with a slight note of pride. The bar was throbbing with noise and Boba only heard him because the words were growled directly into his ear.

There was no need to wear their helmets indoors. This was a place where people were overlooked, not noticed, which is why it was the perfect place to start the search.

“I’ve always been good. We just picked up the same scent this time,” Boba responded, flashing his parent-clone a brief smirk before taking a sip of the local alcohol. The drink was purple and reminiscent of whiskey. He couldn’t decide if the sensation of the liquor was warming his insides or if it was the fact that Jango was now with him.

“Yeah, you’re good. But if you were _great_ you’d have met up with me on the last three trails. I know how to pick ‘em. I don’t chase pocket change.”

It wasn’t quite like looking in a mirror and Boba doubted it ever would be. Instead, Jango’s face was a window into the future, a preview of himself in years to come. He was spoiled with the knowledge that his hair would first hint silver at his temples and his features would grow rugged but not worn.

“You look good,” Jango said, just barely above the volume of the crowd. Only when Boba glanced over again did he realize that Jango’s eyes had never left him. As fascinating as it was to see the future, it must be even more breathtaking to observe the past. Boba saw what he would one day be, but Jango saw what had once been his reflection for quite some time in his mid-twenties.

At eighteen, Boba had left Jango to follow in his footsteps. It occurred to him now how young he must have looked then, the way Jango was looking at him now.

The clone met his original’s gaze. He could have made a joke that disregarded Jango’s words as narcissism, but he didn’t.

Truthfully, it was nice to hear him say that. In his younger years, Boba had called him father until they began to notice undeniable similarities and ingrained idiosyncrasies that made the term no longer seem fitting. From about thirteen on, they decided to grow up as friends.

“You too, Jango.”

At last, Jango seemed to catch himself and turned toward the bar counter, huffing an almost-laugh at the compliment, “Isn’t that good news for you.”

Boba had always known he was a clone, but he had also known he was special. It was more than being unaltered genetically and allowed to grow at a normal pace; it was the fact that his existence was Jango's deliberate choice. As the blueprint for the Kaminoan’s clone army, Jango could have made any demand, but all he asked for was one, unadulterated clone.

Unlike his millions of clone brethren who were altered to be obedient, Boba was allowed to be true to himself and pursue any path he wished. Because of this freedom, Boba would always value Jango’s praise—subconsciously, he hoped it validated his choice to leave him unchanged. Still, Boba chose his profession for no one's approval. Bounty hunting was his first choice and he wouldn't have been satisfied with any job less challenging.

When Jango caught the attention of the bartender a similar glass was poured for him.

At first, Boba didn’t care for bars. They were unorganized and dirty—the exact opposite of the orderly halls of Kamino. However, as time passed, he began to take comfort in their chaos. They were where he needed to be to learn of new jobs, and where the old jobs were hiding out.

In any case, the man they were hunting wasn’t here tonight, nor would he be until tomorrow. Jango and Boba had both come to the city with the foresight to head him off at the pass of his current flight. Boba had even purchased a small hotel room, not wanting to sleep in his ship while knowing there was the luxury of a soft bed nearby.

A few moments passed in silence before before Boba stated, “So, whose taking this one?”

“You don’t want to split it?”

“The first rule you ever taught me was to work alone.”

 Jango quirked an eyebrow, genuinely impressed to receive the correct answer to a trick question. He took a slow drink and Boba watched his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed.

“He’s yours then,” Jango decided.

“You sure?”

“Like I said, you weren’t on my last three trails. I’ve got enough to buy the whole bar ten of these things for a year,” Jango informed him, holding up his small, now-empty glass, “When you get good enough to meet me at every lead I find, then we’ll duke it out.”

Neither man was drunk but the room was loud and the air was warm, allowing a comfortable relaxation to spread through both of them. Eventually, conversation seemed much less important than the fact that Boba’s hair looked nice at that length and Jango had a few new scars that invited you below the collar to see them fully.

“I’ve got a room,” Boba stated.

Jango smiled, “I’d love to see it.”

 

 

-

 

 

The door was locked behind them, but just barely. They met frantically, ungracefully fraught to connect the minute they were over the threshold of the less-than-luxury hotel.

Jango pinned Boba to the wall, knocking the back of his head against it with a quiet sound. Hungrily, he closed his mouth over the clone’s throat and sucked hard. Jango nudged his knee in between Boba's legs, opening him up and getting him into a position he could work with.

They’d done this sort of thing twice before.

The first time they met up was two years after Boba had left home. It was completely by chance, right about the time when each of them had accepted that the galaxy was large and maybe they wouldn’t meet again. They were amazed by each other, how much they were the same and yet so different. They were awed by how their journeys had made them individuals, how much they’d each changed, and how much they had been missed.

The second time they’d met on another trail a year later and the hope was born that their meetings could become more frequent if they did their jobs right. Boba remembered vividly that Jango smelled like a mixture of different terrains from all the worlds he’d been to. While Boba reveled in scent, Jango lost himself to sound, deciding then that there were no sweeter noises than the ones Boba would make for him.

Now, there was no hesitation. Each was starved for what they missed in the other’s absence.

Jango worked to get Boba’s fly open and, for the time being, the younger let him take control. He’d seize his charge soon enough, but it was nice to be shown just how desired he was.  Jango tasted down to the crook of Boba’s shoulder where he bit hard enough to contrast the sensation of his steadily pumping fist.

Boba snarled as Jango worked him. His grip was too accurate, learnedly perfect—slow but a little rough with stops now and again to tease the slit with his thumb. Jango bit harder and Boba slammed his head against the wall again with a delirious profanity.

“You know just how to do it.”

“I’ve had this body a lot longer than you, kid. I know it better.”

Jango paused his movements to concentrate northwards. With his free hand, he splayed his fingers over Boba’s jugular with barely any pressure. It was a guiding touch that tilted his jaw just enough to meet his mouth.

They kissed wetly for a moment before they broke, panting, admiring each other.

“Get on with it, old man,” Boba breathed, raggedly.

Jango’s grin split wide.

 

 

-

 

 

Sunrise poured gold over the horizon and most of the city was still quiet.

“Take care of yourself,” Jango said, genuinely. The ship dock was vacant and the wide universe beckoned beyond it.

“You too,” Boba replied, watching his parent-clone open the door to his vessel.

“I mean it, Boba. Don’t let the other guy shoot first.”

Boba huffed at the amiable concern. Jango smiled gently and put on his helmet, which prompted Boba to do the same.

“I think about you,” Jango started, and it was clear that he words had escaped him before he had processed whether or not they were appropriate to say. The next sentence he stumbled over, “Not that I worry. You’re a good hunter, like I said. But I just…if anything happened...”

“What’re you, my father?” Boba jested, “I’ll be safe.”

“You'd better be,” Jango warned, which really meant ‘I love you.’

“See you at the next lead.”

The ship shrunk away to the size of a pearl until it left the atmosphere. For a few moments, Boba gazed at the morning stars Jango left through, lost in thought.

Not long afterwards, another ship took the empty docking space. Departing from it was a shady, nervous looking fellow with a price tag pinned to his name.

Back on the job.

 

 

-

 

 

The End


End file.
